They Say You're the Devil
by LaReinaSofia
Summary: Matt Murdock is taken to safety by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents after stumbling into one of their operations with his own agenda as the Daredevil and accidentally blowing their cover. He was wounded on site, and while some agents wanted to leave him behind, others decided to take him in, treat his injuries, and learn more about the so-called "Devil of Hell's Kitchen."
1. Prologue

_This is a brief situational narrative in which Matt Murdock, as Daredevil, is taken to safety by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents after stumbling into one of their operations with his own agenda and accidentally blowing their cover. He was wounded on site, and while some agents wanted to leave him behind during the retreat, others had heard of the vigilante of Hell's Kitchen. They decided to take him in, treat his injuries, and learn more about the so-called "Daredevil."_

 _Enjoy!_

 _LRS_

* * *

They Say You're the Devil

Prologue

Normally, the world was black. Black and deep red, with small bursts of amber glow floating across the abyss, casting shadows of memories long gone, memories of cracked sidewalks, neon signs over smoky bars, and the creases and wrinkles of kind, comforting smiles.

But now, the world was white. Hot, stark white expanding boundlessly in all directions, fueled by a relentless, razor-sharp drone ringing through the air, reverberating off of a hundred metal surfaces and returning again and again to sting and scratch and claw at his ears, his brain, the blood in his very veins.

He couldn't think, or speak, and although every muscle in his body told him he was screaming, he could not hear a single cry of his own making.

The excruciating drone was suddenly invaded by an uproar of muffled, low-pitched sounds, like ghosts wailing atop each other or the laughter and chatter of a hundred party guests echoing off the vaulting arches of a grand marble hall. The muffled invasion persisted, swirling about the impossibly high-pitched hum, and as the sounds became sharper and sharper, blackness bled into the white-hot blaze, the same familiar, comforting blackness with its deep red corners and amber flames.

It wasn't until the world's true colors had completely smothered the prison of white that he could feel himself being pushed backward onto a cold, hard surface by _one… two… three_ pairs of hands, and that the ghostly wails had been filtered, as if by radio dial, into human voices.

" _He shouldn't have been there in the first place, and if he hadn't been, we could have walked away with true leverage for the first time in…"_

"… _irrelevant now, we couldn't leave him…"_

"… _and months and months of planning…"_

"… _this doesn't change anything…"_

"… _this changes everything…"_

As the voices became clearer and clearer, the drone faded until it was little more than an irritant ringing in his ears. A feeling of drunken disorientation swept over him as he made a series of fruitless attempts to count the room's occupants, groaning in response to the immense throbbing in his head. Another attempt to hoist himself up was met with frantic protests and more hands forcing him backward onto the cold table.

Amidst frustration, the echo of his own heartbeat in his ears, and steadily brewing nausea, one voice in particular offered balance to the chaos, like shelter from a storm, as it shattered the ongoing argument with one hard-headed interjection.

"The fact is, it's _over,_ and there is nothing anything any of us can do to change it."

The room fell silent.

"Did the operation go as planned? No. Will we be performing some _major_ damage control? Yes. But that will have to wait, because right now, we have a good man and potential ally right here, in this room, who needs our help."

Not a single voice dared challenge her, though beneath her strength and resolve was a kind, delicate, English cadence laced together by the unbreakable thread of compassion.

Head aching, confused, and feeling sicker and sicker by the minute, he struggled instinctively but was met again by three pairs of hands holding fast to his arms and shoulders.

The Englishwoman spoke once again, turning away from the table with a sharp tone. "I am now going to respectfully request that you remove yourself from the laboratory, Agent May."

An exasperated huff, awkward shuffling from the various, still un-countable bodies scattered about the room, and finally, the _clack_ ing of angry footsteps and the sealing of a sliding glass door ended the argument for the foreseeable future.

In the sudden calm, he became conscious of his own heavy, desperate, irregular breathing, and made one last objective-less struggle. The same three pairs of hands protested and held him steady once again, not oppressively, but almost soothingly. He noted that two were coarse and gritty against his skin, the third much softer. He gave in to their touch, his shoulders and head falling back against the table, drained of will and strength.

A few light footsteps, an approaching warmth, and in an instant, the source of the kind, comforting voice was at directly by his side.

"Matthew?" she whispered as soft, delicate fingertips brushed across his hairline, again and again, reassuringly. "Matthew… can you hear me?"


	2. Part I

Many thanks to you wonderful readers for the favorites, follows, and comments! I hope you enjoy the story as it continues. I'm predicting a couple more chapters, probably four maximum. Also, as a disclaimer, I could not tell you exactly where in the timeline of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. or Daredevil this might be taking place, and I am also drawing on some material from the early Daredevil comics. In true comic book fashion, I've thrown continuity out the window, haha. I've also added some entirely non-canonical tweaks to the comic book material to make the story a little more interesting. But I've done my best to stay true to the essence of the characters, and to combine many of the things I love about the shows and comics, to provide you with an entertaining story. I hope it pleases!

Thanks for reading!

LRS

* * *

They Say You're The Devil

Part I

In her vast array of experiences as a biochemist and medical professional, Jemma Simmons had seen some less-than-commonplace things. She'd seen men grow seven times their normal size while their skin turned clammy and green like a lizard's, she'd witnessed women with telekinetic powers move colossal objects with little more than the flick of a wrist, she'd seen human bodies frozen, melted, and shattered like glass, and although she was certain she would never, ever be able to say it aloud without cringing, she had seen aliens. True, in-the-flesh, honest-to-God aliens. In fact, she was quite good friends with at least one oddball from outer space.

Considering her extensive history with the strange and supernatural, she couldn't understand why in this very moment she felt so hyper-cautious. The specimen before her was no terrifying green giant. From the other agents' accounts of their initial encounter with him, she knew he certainly wasn't sporting that dangerous combination of superhuman abilities _and_ malicious intent. And, as far as she could tell, he was no alien. He was, by all accounts, just another man.

At least, he would have been, had it not been for those eyes.

The commotion surrounding the mission's unexpected abortion and Agent May's relentless reprimanding of this man and his 'destructive interference with a major operation' were already enough to sicken Agent Simmons. Thus, the sinking feeling deep in her stomach when she checked his eyes for pupil dilation made focusing amid the chaos an even greater challenge. While the ear-splitting argument around her continued – Agents Hunter and Skye attempting desperately to overpower May's furious admonishments but really just making everything worse in the process – Jemma relied on Agents Morse and Fitz to help her handle the most pressing matter in the room: the still unconscious and severely injured man who had stumbled into their mission.

She handed one blood-soaked cloth after another off to Fitz as she worked diligently to manage the bullet lodged in this man's right shoulder. A flesh wound, to be sure, but the significant loss of blood combined with the multiple stab wounds Bobbi was meticulously treating was sure to cause a whole lot of disorientation and a sickening amount of pain. Through it all, Jemma's mind strayed back to those eyes. She had checked them herself. She knew what they were. She knew what it meant, and yet, at the same time, she felt as if she had no idea what it meant whatsoever.

"Bob…"

Another blood-soaked rag to Fitz, another pair of gloves, and of course, Bobbi couldn't hear her over the spatting of Agents Hunter, Skye, and May.

"Bobbi," Jemma repeated, and Agent Morse looked up from the cut she was taping on the man's side. "We need to know more about him."

Bobbi mopped up the rest of the blood and began treating the next cut with steady hands, her eyes moving steadily between her work and Jemma. "What… what do you mean, Jem?"

"Hold this, apply pressure," Jemma muttered, taking Fitz's gloved hand in her own and pressing it against the covered bullet wound. "I mean," she said, addressing Bobbi again, "I don't know who he is or how he conveniently stumbled upon a Hydra base that has taken us months to uncover, but I find it mildly unnatural that despite his condition he seems to have achieved a Melinda May level of adeptness in the martial arts."

Bobbi shook her head, interrupting. "His… condition...?"

"He's blind, Barbara."

Bobbi's steady hands suddenly stopped, her mouth slightly open, as she stared Jemma straight in the eye. She let out a long, ragged breath, then repeated, "… Blind?"

Jemma stared straight ahead. "Blind."

Bobbi looked down at the man's battered face, the sounds of Skye and May and Hunter seeming to fade into the background.

"Bob, I've checked his eyes, we're taking all the standard readings for heart, lungs, blood, temperature, and I am seeing absolutely nothing abnormal that would suggest any kind of 'Inhuman' physiology…"

"He's not Inhuman," Bobbi said, not taking her eyes off his face.

"Er… sorry?"

"He's not Inhuman."

"How… how do you…"

Bobbi returned her attention to the stab wound on the man's side. "Fitz," she said, mopping away more blood and holding a bandage to the puncture, "come over here, take care of these, will you?"

Fitz turned to look at Jemma, who gave a noncommittal nod and took control of the bullet wound once again as Fitz made his way around the table to take up Bobbi's tasks. Bobbi then tossed away her bloodied gloves and pulled her phone out of her back pocket.

"I need to call someone."

Jemma didn't like being in the dark, but knew she'd have to trust Bobbi for now. She could almost feel the throbbing of the wound beneath her hands as his low pulse persisted despite the severed nerves and mangled flesh. She looked down, first at his face, which would have been peacefully expressionless had it not been for the faintest sign of distress on his forehead, then at his shoulder. _All right, Jemma… let's get rid of that bullet._

She got to work, but in the back of her mind she felt such a deep concern as to what she would learn about this man in the hours to come. After all the supernatural phenomena she had seen, the beasts and the powers and the creatures from other worlds… the blind man who could surely match if not best Agent May in a fight was somehow, for some strange, unknown reason, one of the most compelling enigmas she had encountered to date. She continued to work on the wound, taking such care, gently ensuring that the bullet's impending removal would cause the smallest amount of permanent damage possible.

She focused in, sweat forming on her temples, inserting the tools necessary to locate the bullet, and when she felt it, she suddenly felt hyperaware of the sheer fragility of this man, of herself, of every agent in the room. She had to steady herself, to breathe deeply and remain still, and calm, as it dawned on her that blindness, bullet wounds, brain damage, and anything else could strike at any moment in an attempt to snatch away their humanity. Perhaps she had become so used to the non-human, she had almost forgotten how very delicate she was, as were the ones she held dear.

Beneath the persistent debate of the three agents behind her, Jemma heard Bobbi speaking into her phone.

"Clint," she sighed, "hey, I know you're not on the map…" she laughed a little. "Thanks. No, I'm looking for Nat, she's not answering her…" she paused, and heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, my God, my luck," she laughed. "If you could put her on… thank you, so much."

The desire to demand an explanation swept over Jemma once again, but she held fast to her work, making solid progress. She did, however, chance a look up at Fitz, who glanced at her at the exact same moment. Their eyes met, his flicking back to Bobbi for just an instant. Jemma raised an eyebrow, and their silent conversation ended as both continued to manage the bloody mess at hand.

Bobbi turned her back to the two, taking a few steps toward the opposite wall as she spoke. "Nat… you're… I ran into someone. At least, I think I did… I can't be sure. That's why I called."

The fight behind Jemma suddenly dropped a few decibels as Hunter left Skye and May to their bickering, making his way back to the table when he saw Bobbi making the call. He meandered back and forth, catching Fitz's eyes, who shrugged and gestured for Hunter to help him treat the cuts. Hunter obliged, pulling on a pair of gloves and passing over bandages and tape when needed.

Jemma strained to hear what Bobbi was saying, but her efforts were fruitless. Hunter and Fitz shot her knowing glances, and she sighed heavily.

"Jemma," Fitz whispered. His eyes dropped to the man's shoulder and back to his best friend's eyes. "The bullet."

She looked down, steadied herself, and in what felt like several moments of painstaking slow motion, she successfully dislodged the bullet from his shoulder and proceeded to tend to the wound.

Minutes later, Bobbi's voice was audible once again. Jemma looked up to see Bobbi making her way back to the table. She tapped the screen of her phone, and video brought to the screen a face that Jemma instantly recognized.

"He walked in on an operation, apparently with an agenda of his own… but we've got nothing on record."

"I'll know him to see him, Bob," said the red-haired woman on the other end of the call, a woman Jemma had seen many, many times, but had never actually spoken to. "I never forget a face."

Bobbi sighed, and turned the phone to show Natasha Romanoff the man's face.

Jemma looked up at the small screen and saw Agent Romanoff shake her head, unable to suppress a small smirk. "Well, I'll be damned," she murmured. "The hell did you get yourself into, Murdock…?"

Bobbi held the screen steady, allowing Agent Romanoff to get as close a look as possible. "You sure, Nat?"

Jemma watched the screen carefully, and there was not a shred of doubt in Agent Romanoff's eyes. "Yeah, Bob. I'm sure. Like I said, I never forget a face. Let alone that one. Agent Jemma Simmons?"

Jemma startled to attention when addressed by name. She glanced at Fitz, who looked equally shocked and the tiniest bit excited.

"Yes?" she stammered, as Bobbi held the screen to aid their conversation.

"I'm Agent Natasha Romanoff. We've never formally met, but I've heard a number of admirable things about you and your work."

Skye and May suddenly fell silent by the door, and all eyes were on Jemma, who had decided that after this phone call, whatever might come of it, she would be quite done with surprises and adventures for the rest of the day. Suppressing as much of her anxious stammer as she could, she responded with a shaky, "Thank you… thank you, Agent Romanoff."

"Of course," Natasha nodded politely. "Regarding the situation at hand… The man you are taking care of right now is Matthew Murdock, a small-practice defense attorney from Manhattan. Unfortunately, the only information I can give you about this man is what I learned from our acquaintance several years ago. I haven't had contact with him since."

A diligent agent, Jemma could only allow herself to be starstruck for so long. "I understand," she said dutifully. "We appreciate anything you can offer, Agent Romanoff. Any information will be helpful."

Natasha nodded, and heaved a long sigh before beginning.

"During one of my first undercover missions, I was stationed in New York, at Columbia University. I was young, still supervised by my KGB handler, Ivan Petrovich, but he had no idea I was a double agent, already working for S.H.I.E.L.D. I posed as a law student. The Reds put me there to steal vital intel from a Columbia professor, Dr. Leopold York, and then to eliminate him entirely. Little did they know, I was really there protecting him, for S.H.I.E.L.D."

Agents May and Skye had made their way over to the group, but Jemma hardly noticed. She and the others were listening to Agent Romanoff with the utmost attention.

"Murdock was in his second year. He and York had this kind of rapport, they were close. We also lived in the same building, on the same floor, so naturally, I developed a strategic friendship with Murdock, to get closer to York. But then I… um…"

She paused, and her eyes wandered off for a moment before she cleared her throat. "We… well. I was young. I was more susceptible to distraction back then."

Jemma could feel the tension in the room as the bodies of her fellow agents shifted awkwardly. Needless to say, agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. tended to put Natasha Romanoff on a pedestal. Unjustly dehumanizing, Jemma felt, but hard not to do considering Agent Romanoff's impressive resume.

"Anyway," she continued, clearing her throat once more, "he'd been blinded at a young age, orphaned shortly after… a childhood hell, to put it gently. But despite the ringer he went through, he was deeply compassionate. He was hell-bent on pursuing law not for the money or the prestige, but to defend the innocent. I cringed every time he said that," she laughed, "but he really did mean it."

Natasha shook her head a little, setting herself back on track. "Needless to say, we became very close. A series of… platonic, romantic, and a few wrong-place-wrong-time events led me to discover that beneath all of that compassion was a… a different side. Angry, violent, and capable of incredible physical feats."

"How… how did you discover this 'other side,' Agent Romanoff?" Jemma interjected, gently.

Natasha stared straight forward and sighed. "Petrovich found me out. Three months into a four-month op, I had him in the palm of my hand, and then one stupid mistake on my part, and he knew my loyalties were with S.H.I.E.L.D. The night he found out… I'll never forget that night. November. Terrible storm… I made one last run to protect York from Petrovich, but he tracked us both. The intel was as good as compromised, we were as good as dead…"

She smiled.

"… And then, Matt showed up. Blind Matt Murdock. He always said he wanted nothing more than to defend the innocent. I never understood how sincere he was, not until that night. Petrovich was my superior for a reason; I never could have taken him down alone. But with Murdock by my side… we won. Took him down. York was safe, and so was I. Thanks to Matt."

Natasha took a thoughtful pause, as if deciding whether or not it was appropriate to share more.

"Before I closed up the op and left for good, I spoke to him one last time. Turns out he'd trained with a former Hand and Chaste leader, learning to use his blindness to his advantage. He said each day, it got harder and harder for him to hold back the anger, and the violence. He said it felt like a demon, deep down inside him, was trying to escape. He was scared of what might happen when it did."

Her eyes wandered, and she looked toward Matt's battered, beaten figure. "But after everything he'd done for me, and for everyone around him… I wasn't too worried," she smiled.

She looked back at the agents she was addressing. "I can't say how he knew the location of that base," she said. "I can't say what he hoped to gain by confronting those agents. I certainly can't say what his endgame is. I can say, however, with great confidence, that Matthew Murdock was a good man when I knew him. I see no reason why that would not still be the case today."

A long pause followed, most eyes now on Matthew.

"Thank you, Agent Romanoff, for everything," Jemma said. "We'll take good care of him. Surely now that he knows of our existence, there will be technicalities and paperwork to follow," she added, earning a laugh from Natasha, "but we'll work that out when he's awake and well."

"He's in good hands," Natasha said. "Thank you, Agent Simmons, and all of you, for your help. Oh…" she added, just as Bobbi was about to end the call. "One more thing. When he's stabilized, one of you should ask him if he's still with Heather Glenn."

Fitz, Hunter, and Bobbi were the first grin, followed shortly by the rest of the group (except Agent May, who remained stoic-faced) when they realized that _the_ Natasha Romanoff was very much human, and very much entitled to get jealous now and again.

"If he is," she continued, "tell him I'm happy for him."

"And if he's not…?" asked Hunter, the most amused of all the agents in the room.

"If he's not…" Natasha smirked, shedding the etiquette… "Tell him he can kiss my leather-clad ass."

How to behave in the presence of Natasha Romanoff was suddenly of no consequence whatsoever to anyone in the room, and with the exception of Melinda May, no one could suppress a grin and a laugh.

"Back to work, agents," she smiled. Bobbi ended the call, and as if on cue, Matthew began to move.

Before anyone could stop him, he turned in such a way that strained the bullet wound, and a strangled cry of pain escaped his lips as his eyes shot open and he attempted to hoist himself off of the table. Hunter, Bobbi and Fitz responded quickly to his attempts while Jemma frantically cleared away all potentially hazardous medical equipment and Agent May resumed her furious ranting.

"I don't give a damn if the rest of you think a vouch from Agent Romanoff is enough to get him out of hot water…"

Jemma dropped the handful of tools onto another table and quickly tossed all bloodied cloths and bandages into the waste. "Agent May, that is _quite_ enough…"

"He shouldn't have been there in the first place, and if he hadn't been, we could have walked away with true leverage for the first time in…"

"Jemma!" Fitz called, as Matthew made another frantic, disoriented attempt to escape their grasp.

"Don't let him move," she called over May's protests and Skye's rebuttals, clearing the last of the materials away and preparing a sedative in case he couldn't be calmed. "We've been thorough, but I don't want to take any chances. He could hurt himself…"

"This doesn't change anything, May…"

"This changes _everything_ , Skye, _everything_ , so don't presume to tell me…"

Matt made another desperate, semi-conscious attempt to escape, his face contorted with pain and confusion while the three by his side attempted valiantly to calm him down.

Jemma, meanwhile, had had absolutely enough excitement for one day and was more than ready to put an end to the yelling.

"The fact is," she shouted, stopping the commotion in its tracks, "it's _over,_ and there is nothing anything any of us can do to change it. Did the operation go as planned? No. Will we be performing some _major_ damage control? Yes. But that will have to wait, because right now, we have a good man and potential ally right here, in this room, who needs our help."

She turned to face May directly and said, unwavering, "I am now going to respectfully request that you remove yourself from the laboratory, Agent May."

May huffed angrily, turned on her heel and left, Skye sliding the glass door shut behind her.

Jemma breathed heavily, surprised at her own resolve, but relishing in it a little nonetheless.

"Jemma," Bobbi grunted as she and the others suppressed Matthew's final attempt at escaping. She held his arm, soothingly, attempting to feel as little like a threat as possible. It appeared Fitz and Hunter had had the same idea, as both were careful to be firm, but not too forceful. He finally surrendered, allowing his head to fall back against the table, clearly exhausted. Jemma looked down at the injection in her hand. She glanced at Fitz, who had placed a comforting hand on Matthew's uninjured shoulder.

"I think he'll be all right, Jemma," he said softly. "Something for the pain, maybe."

Jemma nodded. She walked back to the table, set down the injection, pulled up a lab stool, and sat on Matthew's right side. She leaned in closely. "Matthew?" she whispered, to no response. She glanced at Bobbi, who gave her a reassuring nod. Jemma reached out, tentatively, and brushed her fingers across his hairline, again and again. "Matthew… can you hear me?"

His breathing was low and ragged, and his eyes were only half open, moving haphazardly in random directions. She gave him a few moments, then said, gently, "Matthew, if you can hear me, let me know. All right?"

"I…" he took several deep, steadying breaths. "I… I can… Where… Where am I?"

Jemma smiled a little, relieved. She didn't know it, but Matt could hear both – the smile and the relief – in her voice. And it soothed him. "Matthew, my name is Jemma Simmons. I'm an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. As for where you are, well… you're safe."


End file.
